


The Changing Lights

by paprikadarling



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Infidelity, M/M, mostly...lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paprikadarling/pseuds/paprikadarling
Summary: harry barges into louis's room on an off day. louis pretends he wasn't expecting it.





	The Changing Lights

**Author's Note:**

> what i shouldve named this is Let's Imagine Harry and Louis's Entire Sexual History In Less Than 4000 Words! i didnt think i would be going this deep into actual 1d history so, um, just pretend this doesnt exist on a fictitious timeline where nothing actually happens but endless cycles of touring and promo and Larry. 
> 
> also, this is not speculation! i do not own, or claim to know, 1d or these characters. i am not making a statement about them, nor do i believe this is true. this is a _fictional_ story. please respect that! 
> 
> aight thanks 4 reading mates!

Things are better when they’re not fucking.

The longer they’re apart from each other, the more taboo it becomes for them to act on their impulses: to even touch Harry’s arm during these spells would take a mountain of effort and a cost great deal of backlash. Of course, Louis tends to miss it. Especially when they’re on stage and Harry is thumbing his microphone in his hand and Louis’s breath is pulsing out of him, all he can think about is the sinuous line of their bodies connecting, together, silhouetted under the flashing stage lights. His hand bunched in Harry’s hair. Kisses down his collarbones. Heavy, laughing breaths. A finger drawing circles on his thigh. Restful sleep.

But when they’re not fucking, Louis can just shut himself in his hotel room when the show ends, sometimes pulling one off to the stale adrenaline from earlier, and continue along business as usual.

Sometimes, though, they’re both drunk and alone on a rooftop, or they’re fighting about Harry being absent around the boys and Louis accidentally lets his eyes drop to Harry’s lips, or Louis just can’t take it anymore and marches into Harry’s room and hauls him out of bed and into the shower.

It’s these times that start the ball rolling, and spirals them out of control. When they’re fucking, Harry and Louis can’t seem to fuck other people; it’s like they’re together again with all the old feelings woken out of dormancy.

They tend to reach out and grab each other, uninvited. Like this instance, for example. It’s a day off, and they have an early flight the next morning, so they’re given the day to wander the hotel (none of them ever do anymore), lock themselves in their rooms to work on God knows what (Harry and Niall), hit the gym (Liam), or smoke some weed and watch Breaking Bad (Louis); like good boys who know they shouldn’t be papped with the horrid exhaustion circles they’ve got around their eyes.

But instead of staring at the mounted TV screen across the room until his eyes feel like they’re marbles as planned, Louis’s attention snaps to the door, which has opened rather forcefully.

Of course it’s Harry. Niall at least has the decency to give a courtesy knock before barging in and Liam double and triple texts Louis annoyingly until his unresponsiveness warrants an irritated phone call warning Louis of his arrival.

Harry’s wearing a green band t-shirt that’s so faded Louis can’t even make out the name, and a pair of tight black boxers. There’s a dark outline somewhere below the waistline and Louis raises an eyebrow.

“Alright?” he asks, mainly to Harry’s bulge.

“Fine.” Harry responds, picking his way over Louis’s luggage to the foot of the bed.

He actually skirts around the side of the bed, which is parallel to the door, to the end where Louis’s feet are threatening to hang off. He glances at Louis with dark eyes and a downturned brow, and climbs on the bed knees-first and directly on top of Louis, bracing one hand by Louis’s chest and using the other to shut off Louis’s iPhone and set it on the bedside table.

Then he grabs at the hem of Louis’s shirt.

It’s always mildly surprising when Harry does this, in the way that you’re mildly surprised when someone acts so typically themselves it feels like a caricature. Louis isn’t planning on complaining when Harry’s enormous hand is plastered on his chest and his hair is tickling his nose as Harry moves in to kiss his neck, but in a way he’s irritated. Things between them are enormously more complicated when they're fucking and Harry should've been smarter about finding a time when they have more preoccupations to keep the feelings at bay.

He doesn't acknowledge the fact that his annoyance is a privilege to how assured he was this was how the day would play out. He has no plans for stopping this from happening. He’s just not going to let it come easy.

“What have you been up to today?” Louis asks, straining to keep his voice steady.

Harry takes his time answering, nipping lazily under Louis’s chin and moving his other hand to grasp his throat.

“Woke up pretty late. Went to the meeting. I’ve been writing since, mostly.”

“Riveting,” Louis responds. He cranes his neck to see the TV better and _not_ to give Harry a better angle to slip the hand on his throat behind his head and into his hair. Harry just hums in assent, which pours warm air onto Louis’ neck, and continues, hand traveling southward.

They can't talk seriously. If they try, one of two things will happen; the first being Louis will remember that along with his incredible libido Harry also has a wonderful personality, which is not so hard to comprehend at times when they're not intimate, but Louis can only take the sex or the charm. Lest he begin to dredge up feelings that would do him absolutely no good. The other thing that might happen if they tried to talk seriously is that they might kick at the Great Wall of History between them, and that would be no good either.

Earlier that afternoon they'd all met in the conference room to go over the schedule for the next day. No one is ever in a particularly good mood on off days, as these days tend to bear the brunt of the group’s exhaustion. Lately the times they're all in a good mood are in the hysteria of one of their three-shows-three-days-three-timezones run when everyone’s drunk on the rancid dregs of their remaining adrenaline and delirious in ways only overworking something you're passionate about can make you.

These particular nights Harry and Louis will sing along to Sheryl Crowe with their beer bottles raised and arms looped around each other’s shoulders like they're any old mates in a band. Louis will yell at Niall for pulling out his guitar, _the last thing we need right now is music you little shit save the guitar for the next show_ , to which Niall will protest they were just singing Sheryl Crowe, to which Harry will point his finger at Niall and say _Sheryl is different. Sheryl is spiritual for this band. Praise Sheryl_. And Louis will look Harry in the eyes and say _Cheers to that, Harry_ , and knock back the burn in his throat with a swig.

But earlier this afternoon at the meeting, like on most off-days, Louis wouldn't even let himself look at Harry, whose eyes probably had weary bags underneath and whose bun probably had tendrils falling out and tucked sleepily behind his ears. And when the crew came in looking as worse for wear as the boys, he could feel Harry perk up alongside himself. If they have anything in common nowadays it’s their silent agreement to make an effort for the rest of the team, if not for each other. So Louis found it in him to laugh softly to Harry’s half-hearted jokes and roll his eyes a bit when Harry told everyone to put their hands in.

“Everyone continue their break at the word break, yeah?” Harry said, and Louis felt a knuckle brush his palm where all their hands were piled together. Louis looked up, and caught Harry’s eye for a moment. He looked away.

“Ready, break!”

And then Louis got up first and left wordlessly to head back to his room, clapping Liam on the shoulder and making his way around the long side of the round table to avoid walking past Harry. He and Niall were in the elevator together when Harry shoved his hand into the closing door and joined them, turning his back to them and bending his head over his phone.

Niall turned to his door first, bidding an _until tomorrow_ to Harry and Louis, and when Louis turned off to his room two doors down Harry continued walking straight past without a word.

*****

Now, Harry’s licking his way across Louis’s collarbones, fingers pulling the collar of Louis’s shirt down from the inside to reveal his skin.

He pulls Louis’s shirt over his head, murmuring, “You're such a prat,” when Louis makes a stink about his obstructed view of the television.

“Yeah, I’m the prat, aren't I,” Louis grumbles as Harry painstakingly undoes his jeans. It's getting harder to ignore, but he tries valiantly, despite the fact that in the end it's always going to be futile. Harry goes into sex like no one Louis has ever been with, all dangerous intentions to prove (to himself? Or to Louis?) that he knows Louis far too intimately and uses that to break him down little by little.

It wasn’t like this before, Louis muses as Harry struggles to the waistband of his jeans over his hips.

Harry’s earnestness, and his willingness to act like a complete berk for the sake of anyone’s enjoyment- that’s what drew Louis toward Harry in the first place, although there’s no place for any of that in their current arrangement.

But pre-fame and pre-everything else, their energies had mingled deliciously, egging each other on in ridiculous ways. The flirting was competitive. It was sort of a friendship chicken, seeing who could like the other more, who could make the other more uncomfortable with his fake come-ons, who would be the first to say _actually, this isn’t cool _.__

Louis realized his feelings for Harry were real about the same time as when they started having sex. It had something to do with the fact that Harry would babble to him in bed, say things like “Lou, god, that feels so good. Never felt anything like this before, fuck, Louis, you’re so-” and mean it. Louis tended to be silent, and only later he realized it was because he felt the same.

And then, yeah, he panicked and started dating El because it seemed like that was what should feel right, and in the meantime Harry had his flings with other girls and boys, and learned about sex. He experimented a lot, or so Louis figures.

Because once he and El had their massive falling out, and he and Harry had been tip toeing around each other for god knows how long- a year and a half maybe, almost two- Harry drunkenly asked Louis how his relationship was going and that whole thing ended with them kissing, slow and sweet. Louis had never had sex like that in his life. Gone were Harry’s babbles and his embarrassing, but frankly flattering tendencies to come too fast when Louis praised him.

What Louis remembered most from that night was the breathing. His breaths didn’t jack-rabbit out of him like they do when it gets good with Eleanor. No, Louis was gasping for air by the time Harry pushed into him, enormous breaths that emptied his body as Harry pulled back and filled him deep into his stomach. Breathing into Harry’s mouth, warm damp air mingling in the space between them, leaving his skin flush and eyes wet with tears, shuddering as he came, crying out Harry’s name and lastly feeling… alarmingly sober.

*****

  
Harry’s breathing plays a part too, as Louis looks down to where Harry has now shucked Louis’ pants down and is breathing warmth onto his groin. Since that first time they fucked Harry has learned not only how to have sex, but how to have sex with Louis.

It drives Louis crazy.

But fuck it all if Louis hasn’t learned something about Harry. Most of his ignoring Harry thing is pride, yeah, but Louis knows that what gets Harry off more than anything is knowing that he earned something from Louis.

Harry pulls Louis’s dick out and licks a long stripe up the back, flicking his eyes up to Louis’s face and finding Louis staring at him. Louis looks away quickly, cheeks heating up, as Harry sings a little “ta da!” to himself like a _complete idiot_ and dives open-mouthed into his little project. Louis is in control. Louis is. In. Control.

Harry licks the head of Louis’s cock, and looks up. “You know, it’s quite rude to ignore someone when they’re paying attention to you like this.” His mouth sinks lower, and then higher again. “Basic principle of politeness.”

  Louis takes in a shaky breath. “I would think that a basic principle of politeness is not to interrupt someone while they’re busy. I was watching television when you came storming in like a complete and utter-”

He chokes as Harry sinks down again. Harry pops off and sits up from where he’s been hunched over Louis’s middle, pumping his hand slowly. “If you’d only look here you’d realize that there’s a much better show going on right here. At your intimates,” he murmurs, and waggles his eyebrows a bit.

“You. Are a fucking asshole. You know that right,” Louis says disbelievingly, and giving up, he grabs a fistful of Harry’s hair and also his chin (so he doesn’t hurt the poor bastard’s _sensitive scalp_ ) and hauls him up to kiss his mouth.

“Mmph,” Harry grunts, shifting on top of Louis and slotting their mouths together, moving warm and sweet; unlike the cruel motions Harry inflicted on him earlier. “That was quick.” He smiles against Louis’s mouth and says, infuriatingly, “You _wanted_ me.”

Louis does not like the pleased tone in Harry’s voice, even as he shifts on his back to give Harry better access with his fingers, he grits his teeth and tells him “I do _not_ want you”

You’re just something to do, he wants to say. But Harry shuts him down before he can even open his mouth, pushing one finger as far as it can go, and muttering that “If that were true, we’d be friends again.”

*****

After that first time after his fight with El, Louis and Harry began to get reckless.

First, of course, he pretended it hadn’t happened, Louis was especially embarrassed to wake up with Harry’s face snuggled sweetly into his shoulder blade and morning wood poking innocently at the back of his thigh. Harry hadn’t even had the decency to pretend he was asleep, watching silently as Louis collected his things and left the room, proceeding to send him meaningful stares which Louis systematically ignored.

Eventually, Harry got the message that Louis did _not_ want to talk about it when he went and made up with Eleanor. Things went about business as usual.

But his brain, which for so long had been set on noticing everything Harry did but casually not remembering why, began to be self aware in its inexplicable tendency to be utterly attuned to Harry.

He was jealous when Harry hung himself off of Liam, and kissed the stage manager’s cheek, and fucked other people in his hotel room at night. It infuriated him when Harry, who had once been so attuned to Louis, so confused when Louis left, and who then finally faded into the background of Louis’s mind, was now sharp as a tack and also utterly unconcerned with Louis.

Louis, being the competitive little brat he knows very well he can be, ignored Harry right back. An angry, stifling type of ignoring. The type of cold shoulder the band could feel, squeezing between them at odd moments and making everyone uncomfortable, with its cruel, jealous intentions. Louis began to feel Harry’s eyes follow him.

And then one day he lingered from the post-show group hug with his hand on Harry’s bicep, announcing that he was “Off to the lonely dungeon of my hotel room, alone, for a sad, lonely night alone,” and flicked his eyes over to meet Harry’s.

Sure enough, that night his door opened to Harry barging in, saying a meek “Hello” and pushing Louis back onto the desk of the room to fumble with his belt.

“What, did you take tonight as an invitation or something?” Louis had asked, intonation bored.

“Yes,” Harry’d said, and ripped his shirt from his head.

And so started their bizarre cycle of fucking/not fucking, a few times while Louis was very much _not_ single, once or twice ruining Harry’s chances at monogamy with some girl. They were being reckless enough with their own emotions, toying with their unexplainable attachment like two people might toss a bomb back and forth, but additionally they were reckless with the way it affected their interactions, and resultantly, the rest of the band.

*****

“This isn’t great dirty talk, but while I have you here I wanted to tell you that Niall asked me how we-” Louis gestures between himself and Harry, “were doing.”

Harry, who’s just pulled three fingers back and is now occupying himself with a condom, pauses.

“You know, I actually think about Niall every time we have sex,” he comments mildly. “It’s my secret kink, I want you to bring up that Irish piece of ass whenever we’re both naked, please.”

Louis laughs a little despite of himself, and sits up to kiss Harry on the mouth.

There’s a moment of silence, they are both still. Finally, “What’d you say?” Harry asks, peeking beneath his eyelashes at Louis.

Harry pushes into Louis as he answers, “I told him- ah,” he gasps, stomach shaking, and tries to collect himself.

“That- that I can’t get along with everyone, all the time, oh my god- that, jesus- I’m just too- too much for you.”

  Harry stops for a second. “Of _all_ the times you could say that _you’re_ too much for _me_.”

“I’m not-” Louis begins, but stops with a gasp as Harry pushes back into him again, harder and faster, and Louis gasps, and he gasps, and he gasps again.

*****

When they weren’t fucking, things were better. The first stint of their on-and-off again affair only lasted two weeks before Louis was able to get ahold of himself and tell Harry they needed to stop.

Harry didn’t say anything.

And for a while it seemed like their relationship was fine again. Harry would laugh at Louis’s jokes and look at his face without intent, Louis would yell “get me a coke, thanks!” behind him when Harry would ask the boys if they wanted anything for the road.

Then Liam would call Sophia, and mention a double date with Louis and Eleanor, and Harry’s back would go rigid in the van in front of Louis.

But he was valiant, and respected Louis’s relationship with Eleanor, and kept his discretion about their little affair. He would politely get up and leave the room if the night ever ended up with just himself and Louis alone, but when everyone was together he would tease Louis gently and Louis would hand him something and wouldn’t even jump when Harry’s fingers brushed his own.

But then, Louis walked into the unlocked bathroom backstage after a show where Harry was alone, splashing water on his face in the sink. Louis didn’t even think, he just walked up to Harry and kissed him.

And when Harry barged into his hotel room an hour later, Louis didn’t tell him to go away.

He broke up with El the next day.

And they started a weird cycle of on-again-off-again. The next off-again cycle looked a lot like the first, but it was Harry who’d rubbed his face tiredly at Louis in the dressing rooms and told him that he couldn’t do this anymore.

And it was Harry who showed up at Louis’s home the day after their Christmas holiday started and pushed him back against the door without so much as a word then, nor the rest of the week until the band met back up for promo season.

It’s been like that since then. Tumultuous. The two of them, intertwined and barely friends. Too close together, and yet too far apart. Hopelessly attached.

They don’t talk about things seriously, and they only ever talk about how they’re fucking _when_ they’re fucking. It's a silent realization that they are either friends, or they’re fucking. And Louis desperately wants to have the impossible. 

*****

As Harry fucks into Louis now, Louis loses his mind with the feeling of it. Harry doesn’t dirty talk or babble on like he used to, instead he fucks with weight of all the things unsaid between them, a tension unleashed only when their bodies are sweat-slick and electric together.

And then he’ll say one thing- not a stream of babbles- one thing, that has enough weight to finish Louis off.

“Feels so good,” he gasps into Louis’s ear. “From the start, Lou. It’s never felt like this with anyone but you.”

Louis gasps and comes, reeling with the stimulation of everything between himself and Harry.

Even from the start, it was always like this. It was, for lack of a more encompassing term, everything. Not just the physical attraction, not just the long-term attachment, but the overwhelming enormity of who Harry is, what he means to Louis, and the unacknowledged tragedy that they can’t be together and be in a band together. Still shaking, Louis turns over and finishes Harry off, looking into his eyes as he sucks him and hoping Harry gets the message that Louis hopelessly agrees.

Nothing will ever feel like this.

****

After, Louis gets up and grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge.

“Louis, I didn’t come here because I was fucking sober. Do you want me to get whiskey dick?”

Louis grins and says, “Of course I do. That’s what I’m most attracted to about you, your limp, _hanging_ -”

Harry flings an arm over his eyes and reaches out for the bottle. “I hate you.” He levels his eyes at Louis from where he’s lounging against the pillows.

“ ‘You’re too much for me’. Jesus, fuck you for that honestly. See if I ever bring you a fucking pizza in bed again.”

“Scratch what I said earlier,” Louis grins, “ _That_ was when I was most attracted to you.”

Harry grimaces, and hands the bottle back to Louis.

Louis takes a swig and adds, “Actually the reason I’m breaking this out is because I’ve heard you’re supposed to wine and dine a fine girl before you have sex with her.”

Sure,” Harry comments, “But what that looks like to me is that you did it fucking backwards,”

Louis climbs back into the bed and leans back against the bedpost next to Harry. He puts his head on Harry's shoulder. It's meant to be like this, isn't it. Louis can't help but think so, based on the peace in his chest, and the way there's no bittersweet picture on his eyelids when he shuts his eyes. It's just the soft buzz of his cheek on Harry's shoulder, the warm and sticky smell of sweaty cologne, and the way his head moves up and down from where it's tucked into Harry's neck, alongside his breathing.

“We did a lot of things backwards,” he says, and meets Harry’s eyes when he turns to look at Louis.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to try and get it right.”

**Author's Note:**

> glad thats out of my system. thanks 4 the read again!!! http://paprikadarling.tumblr.com/


End file.
